


P a t h o l o g i c

by magistralucis (Solitary_Shadow)



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Justice (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, EDM Zombieverse, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Mindfuck, Misotheism, Nausea, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Surreal, Surreal horror, Theology, Unreliable Narrator, my take on certain elements of it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 13:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/magistralucis
Summary: That’s the way that life goes.[Personal take on the EDM Zombieverse. Influenced equally by oldschool andTaiko-era Danger.Safe for work. No romantic shipping of significance. The End is what it is. Happy Halloween, everyone!]





	P a t h o l o g i c

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know anyone mentioned in this story personally, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit from nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> This is a take on the Zombieverse that literally no one asked for, but nevertheless might be appropriate for Halloween purposes. It is a very rough-and-tumbling take because I only started writing this around 19 hours ago, but I think this is one of the very few cases where it works better that way. Some things demand immediate response more than polished response.
> 
> It's a simple take, really. The apocalypse is silent, because the point of an apocalypse is that all sounds and furies disappear. Foundational tropes apply: Danger is the threat and Franck is the compelled. Danger’s physicality does _not_ apply: Franck alone sufficiently manifests sufficient suffering. Other people exist. For now. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it.

**P a t h o l o g i c - An EDM Zombieverse Fanfiction**

\-----------------------------------

 _The sunset spreads slow across the horizon._  
_Powdered dust. Blooded sky. The breeze tickles._  
_You open your eyes. Find yourself outside._  
_Not at all certain how you got here._

 _The inside of your head feels like a torn net._  
_Riddled with too many holes. Too light._  
_So many memories are slipping through._  
_Fists clenching blue sand in a glass._

_Something is taking its course._

where... am i?

 _Easy now. You're sick, you're very sick._  
_Bile rising to the back of your throat._  
_Take a deep breath. Hold. Yes, good._  
_Your heartbeat steadies a little._

who is this? who are you?  
am i coming to or slipping away?

_You were in a terrible accident, my child._

accident...?

 _Yes. You were gone for a long time._  
_But you're back and that's what matters._  
_Now breathe out. I have a job for you._

a job?

 _Turn right._  
_Head up._  
_Straight ahead._

_Trust me._

where are you... who... I...

... can't... hear...

\-----

"There was a God, once upon a time."

A safe haven comes with a price. The younger guard looks over at his partner. Tips his hat, shadowing his smirk with the brim, trying not to let on how his fingers itch for a smoke. "There was, was there?"

The taller one inclines his head. "Yes."

"Were there many others with him, perchance?"

"Not that we know of." He balances his gun across his knees, leaning against the strong and lofty wall with a quiet sigh. The wind rustles his ringlets, long since weighted down to his shoulders. "All we can gather is that he was the greatest God, the highest God, and the loneliest God to have ever existed. Some say he was _perfect_ , but I doubt that. He wouldn't have wanted a legacy otherwise."

"His legacy."

A sly look follows; the taller guard returns it in kind, although his is infinitely more patient. They've heard this so many times before.

"Why, yes - us, of course." The wind picks up again, cutting him off for several long seconds. When it dies back down, the two guards take the time to listen for unusual noises beyond the wall, painfully aware of the thousand lives which depend on their defense of this front. The story only continues when they deem it's safe for them to do so. "What do the Gospels say? - _In the beginning was the Word_. At least, that's the beginning which matters for our intents and purposes; as far as God was concerned, before his Word, there was nothing. His Word made the world turn, and hovering over the waters he brought forth light and everything that which could be shone upon. He saved the brightest light for us, his people, who would speak and move and laugh in his own image and hold his name sacred like pebbles in their mouths. And how he loved them!"

"Gaspard?"

"Mm?"

The younger guard rests his chin on his knees, nursing a lukewarm mug with one hand.

"Do you love me?"  
  
"No." Pause. "Yes." Pause. "I don't know." Gaspard, to his credit, looks genuinely apologetic about this conclusion. He looks around, then up at the sky, deeming that they can afford to risk a shared smoke before lighting his partner one. "I don't know enough information to answer that question."

The sly look returns to the younger one's eyes again. Smoke rises purple between them. "Would you _like_ to know more?"

Gaspard barks out a laugh. "Put your jacket back on, Xavier, you'll catch a chill."

"You do love me," Xavier protests playfully, but does as his partner asks. He shrugs his jacket back on and tosses back his hair, falling about his ears in soft tangled curls. "well, that satisfies fundamentals. What else do we need to do?"

"Defend the fort."

"Sure, but let me finish my coffee first. (He takes a sip and grimaces at the taste.) Why don't you tell me more about God in the meantime?"

Gaspard nods sagely. "Of course. As I said, God loved his people. The problem was that despite his most assiduous attempts, he never could figure out what is it that humans _did._ Even the earliest humans, it didn't take long for them to venture out of the dollhouse; no matter what he gave, they went looking for more, and when he tried to keep them in line with floods and famine they protested he was cruel. God knew only that they didn't want to keep his company, which was definitely not what he'd made them for, and it was very sad and puzzling to him. It was a long time before he realized he shouldn't have made them in his own image after all." He licks his lower lip, considering, before he nods slowly again. "Yes, that was the problem; greatness aside, God had been _unhappy_ , of which his loneliness was only a symptom. He was unhappy because he didn't like himself. He'd never had to like himself before. There was nothing to remind him that he could or _should_ like anybody before he made the world. And now the earth was flourishing, the crops grew heavy and golden, and the sun was bright over the horizon; here were God's creations, each and every one beloved, and none of it gave him a second glance. Only then did God realize he didn't like himself - and that his people had the least reason to like him back, because they were truest to his dislike. They shouldn't even have been able to like one another, and in fact, barely did. But from where God was, the message was clear: he was not welcome in the world he had made. So he took up his mantle and withdrew to his heaven, a move widely agreed to have been of great benefit to the human race."

Xavier pours his mug out onto the ground. Nothing grows there now and it's not the coffee. "Huh."

His partner doesn't begrudge him the brevity of his response. "Yes. It's a shame he didn't stick around for longer, actually. His people might not have welcomed him, but they certainly knew him, and they were slow to forget. Hundreds of years they spent debating whether God had left or not. It was only five years ago that we all agreed he had, as you'd know."

Xavier doesn't say whether he knows or not. He stands and dusts his thighs. "Gaspard?"

"Mm?"

Because he likes to look ahead, that Xavier. The unique gift of younger and more sprightly souls. "Do you think he'll ever come back?"

That gets a wry chuckle out of Gaspard. That's his gift, the virtue of being older and wiser, even if marginally. Everyone owes something to existence and they should take what they can get. "Now why on earth would he do _that?"_

"Nostalgia. Regret. Maybe justice?"

Gaspard smiles fondly. All three emotions flicker across his face before settling on the latter. He starts laughing.  
Then without a word he turns and opens fire on the dozens of bandits trying to swarm in. Xavier joins in without blinking an eye. Nobody in this fort enjoys being this way, but it's what it is. Policy is that nonthreatening individuals deserve help, as well as the sickly or the young or the elderly - but when they come in with knives and molotovs swinging to become the new masters of this place, there's nothing to do but to pay _them_ back in bullets. Casings fly in every direction and the wall is soon soaked in blood. The top of the wall is spiked with broken glass, scavenged from bottles and windows, brushed haphazardly onto the surface from when it was first built. Blue glass glitters purple from the blood painting it. Oddly pretty, if you divorce the sight from the dead bodies piling up underneath.

This is just common procedure by this point. They're on duty Mondays and Fridays.

Tomorrow it'll be much of the same.

"I told you, Xavier, didn't I," Gaspard finally says after the carnage is over. He shoulders his gun and steps back, examining the damage. A bloodstained cross hangs from a chain around his neck, the only thing he'll personally have to clean up tonight. "God's in his heaven - and all's right with the world."

\-----

 _Examine the surroundings._  
_Desert. Barren. But far ahead lies a forest._  
_The wind is icy. Night is setting in._  
_You're chilled to the bone._

 _Wrap your hands around your mouth._  
_Breathe in._  
_Breathe out._  
_Rub them together._

_A siren sounds from the distance._

i've been here before but i can't remember when nor where.  
i can't remember my name. i can't remember what i was doing.  
is this where the accident happened? was i here on some other errand?  
or was i taken away from the scene and brought to this place?  
this feels like the rippling surface of something familiar. but only the surface.

_You must enter the forest._

who is this? who are you?  
a dream? my free will?  
my animal instincts?  
am i just crazy?

_No._

hello?

 _The forest is dark and green and deep. Warmer, too._  
_Here the air is frosty. Your breath streams white._  
_Rub your shoulders. You only have one layer on._  
_Bare feet gleaming pale against the dunes._

_You will not last the night if you stay here._

there is too much noise...

i don't know where i'm going but i seem to know where i'm going.  
i'm watching me inside out at this thing i'm not me. i'm on autopilot  
like a machine. like a bivalve rooted to the bottom of a trench.  
like routine. like i lost everything but can't remember what i lost.

stop being so loud

teeth grinding against teeth. stop to register the surroundings.  
i can see where i woke up, but cannot understand how i ended up there.  
the only footprints are my own. there is only sand and danger.  
my directions are clear but my directives are not. nor my destination.  
i know where i must go: enter the forest, then turn at the fork.  
even though i don't know what that fork will look like  
or where it is or where i should turn  
or where it will take me,  
only that I'm moving towards the noise.

what am i looking for?

 _The ones who are waiting for you._  
_You know what a siren implies._

warning. danger. fear.  
crowds. evacuation.  
_civilization._

 _Yes. You must find it._  
_You are protected but they are not._  
_You must save them._

but how?

 _Every journey has a point after which you can't turn back._  
_That is the point you must reach._

  
\-----

Later that night Xavier disposes of the remains.

There were chaplains, once upon a time. They ceased to exist when God went away, but thankfully the medics they relied on didn't go anywhere.  
The world used to be on the brink of total collapse. It only didn't because people like them stuck around, learning medicine and forming communities and building forts. After five years, he and Gaspard have become uniquely suited to this kind of work; they might not always take up arms, but they do take care of whatever's come of it, cleansing and devoting a little prayer to the scene.

He contemplates a smoke. Thinks of Gaspard, as the bright orange flames burn through.  
Glowing flecks of tobacco flake onto the bodies, tiny flames already smouldering holes where they land.

It's public knowledge, what he does. But he still keeps it away from the children. What few remain of them, anyway.

"Well, well."

Can't let them be sickened by the truth. Can't snuff out the last candle of humanity's hopes.

Can't let them reach the point of no return, so early, so soon.

"It's so pretty." Xavier whispers, and aims the flamethrower. "And to think we used to waste precious time and resources, _hanging them_ from the battlements."

He doesn't want to see it all fall apart.

\-----

_Be calm. Take deep breaths._

i can't.

_You can._

so much noise. so loud. so loud my head feels like it's splitting apart

pull my hair. clumps of it fall out onto my hand.  
don't know whether i pulled too hard or if it was doing that all along  
feeling numb.

it wasn't always like this.

 _Don't worry so much about the petty things._  
_Keep going. Don't lo_

ok back and see the path i trod, already erased in the dust.

turn right turn right left right straight on left

this definitely isn't the way it used to be.

as i walk a million memories drift like snowflakes upon my brain  
none hit home. maybe some of them are about me  
but i can't relate. they've been severed from me with a scalpel.  
flashes: under the knife blade tracing curves sculpted into shape  
but none of those feel like things that happened.  
observing a talk show on mute.

what's a talk show?

_Don't worry about those things._

stop against the trunk of a dried-up tree.  
i run my hand against the brittle branches. catch ivy.  
somehow, _that_ remained alive. a man plants a seed and the  
seed grows thick roots which spread along the sides  
as the rest of the plant sprouts into a virgin vine  
crawling creeping along the earth like sin until the vine  
grows long and grows leaves and sweet plump grapes that  
soon start to bruise and die. they grow heavy. they wither.  
feast for the worms.

brush away the sand and leaves.  
there's something propped against the tree trunk  
no. something was there _before_ the tree trunk.  
dig my fingernails into the bark. chip both.

white metal...?

i step around the tree. dearly wish i had my pocketknife  
(one memory chained to another) but i brush away the leaves  
and brace myself and tear off the strands of ivy and look.

░░-27-2░-57-░7

these numbers mean nothing to me, but the structure does.  
a device comes to mind. same device on the billboard.  
sifting down like gravel all the way to my fingertips.  
conscious of a weight. pat the side of my trousers.  
left side comes up empty; the right side hits jackpot.

familiar weight of a cellphone in my hand. flip it open.

_You'll be able to use that where the sirens are coming from._

n o s i g n a l . . . . . .

\-----

Sirens go off every hour during the night.

"It's a good thing that God doesn't _really_ exist."

Few people ever get a good night's sleep, but that too is a price to pay for this safe haven.  
For a thousand people there are a thousand remedies for this issue. Xavier and Gaspard opt for the simplest: they are awake at night and asleep during the day, the latter of which is about to begin. Gaspard is already in his bathrobe (a whimsical artifact among artifacts) when Xavier comes out with this, fidgeting with the top of an apple (not many of those left, not until next year) chewed down to the core. "Of course not." He says, and folds his hand over Xavier's own. "And if he did, it was too long ago for it to matter."

His partner nods, and remains silent until the final siren dies down. "I've been thinking on what you told me," he says, and pushes the apple away. "and I wonder whether it was inevitable things turned out this way. Whether if it would have been _necessary_ for us to invent God, before we cared a whit about his objective existence. We certainly acted as if he existed before all of _this_ (he gestures outside) happened."

What he omits is that, well; people _still_ act like that. No longer the majority opinion it may be, but faith still exists in a world half depopulated, as those who turn up to their occasional sermons prove. "I don't know about the inevitability and I confess I like to _dream_ he exists." Gaspard eventually replies, gazing at the flames pinned to a tripod in the corner. They melt like tears. "Suppose it was as you said, that he was our creation rather than the other way around. There's bone in your words, for sure; we couldn't have let God be for too long, if that was how it was."

"You think?"

"Oh yes. We couldn't have let him stay, for both our and our fiction's sakes. Nothing short of perverted arrogance would have convinced us that we could imagine true perfection, much less that it would _last_." Gaspard rises from his seat and heads towards the window, greeted to the sight of gestating suburbia. Most of the fort's occupants live in huts, only the insides made up for comfort. It's not the space that's the problem, but the resources. Looking at them for too long makes Gaspard feel awful, so he turns away. It's never nice being reminded that even behind those walls, they're _one_ disaster - natural, man-made, divine punishment - away from total devastation at any time. "There were humans who _played_ at being God, I suppose. They're all gone, too."

"All the better for them." He turns to face Xavier, and flinches inwardly at the sudden intensity on his face. Xavier's gaze is almost violet when he meets eyes with Gaspard, frighteningly calm but with something unearthly squirming beneath the surface. "Imagine if we really could manifest the Word of God. Whether because he ordained it, or because we did with our own depraved imagination. Sometimes I look at how things turned out, Gaspard, and all I can think about is having the power to sweep it all away. Start over with a clean slate."

"Yes, but you can't do that." Gaspard tries to be gentle when Xavier's in his moods. Never mind that like everything else between them, he also shares this sentiment occasionally. But he's acutely aware that they've built up too much, and have too many to protect, to dawdle in fantasies. "The world is what it is, Xavier. We can change it, but we can't make it so that it never happened. Unless you intend to take God's place?"

"Certainly not. But if it _were_ up to me, I would impress upon humanity one very important thing."

  
\-----

help me.

_I can't._

the siren echoes on and on and on in every corner of this forest  
bouncing off trees leaves ruins sinking reminders of civilization  
the directions aren't even coming anymore. i'm going in circles.  
not even time is reliable. battery 34%.  
7pm to 6:42am to 9:10pm to 7pm again.  
am i still following commands? because if i am  
you must have skipped them or i must have lost them

help me. help me help me why can't you help me?

 _I can only show you the path._  
_I cannot lead you there._

i don't know what you want with me

_And you're better for it._

why?

_You're less likely to ruin things you don't know about._

_I can tell you're upset but it's for your own good._  
_You have a history of ruining things, you know._  
_It's not your fault, but we can't afford the risks._

i... what?  
from where? when?

 _You'll find out soon._  
_That is the purpose of your journey._  
_For now, focus on getting there._

first tell me what i want to know.  
tell me why you're doing this.  
at least tell me who i am.

_Keep going._

i can't. tell me.

_I said keep going, you useless bastard._

fall facedown on the forest floor.  
i confess it was only half unintentional.

_Ugly creature._

feel out the searing pain on the top of my head.  
my hand comes back two shades of black.  
more clumps of hair. (you did tell me i was sick.)  
dark stains on sticky fingertips.

can't go on. can't make it.

i'm sorry

_Disgusting._

i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i tried so hard you know  
i tried so hard but it always ends up this way it  
doesn't matter anymore i can't be any better than this  
i want the noise to stop i just want it to go away why  
won't it go away why  
won't it let me exist in peace why  
won't you  
let  
me  
_die_

 _Because you don't deserve it._  
_Don't you want to find out why that is?_  
_Don't you want to be among other people?_  
_Don't you want to see what you haven't yet ruined?_

_Sad. I thought you had potential._

crawling. head sinks into mud.

 _It'll bode well for you to do as I say._  
_You'll never be rid of me. I am always there._  
_Even in the iciest, most barren pits of your desire I am there._  
_As long as you carry around your worthless mortal shell_  
_you will hear me and fear me and you will do as I command._  
_This is hard-coded into you. You used to follow your second nature._  
_And to honour that I wanted to feast your eyes with milk and honey_  
_and praise you and pour beauty upon your shoulders and carry_  
_your groceries and tighten your shoelaces and drift a scarlet petal_  
_upon a puddle as your windows sparkled with rain but man child boy_  
_woman girl all the worthless creatures and you you you you and **you**_  
_kept on making me do stupid things._

inching forwards. hand grabs a root.  
the phone screen lights the way.

 _You had a grief in you neither others nor I could understand._  
_Even now, as I tug at your strings, I'm not sure I do understand._  
_I can be sure, however, that it is a dreadfully familiar feeling._  
_It's disgusting. I know full well you agree.  
_

_Even if you don't, too late now. I own you._  
_I will pluck off the shell and purge the insides._  
_Yes. Yes that's what I will do. **Watch me**_ **.**

stop it.  
stop it stop it just stop talking  
stop trying to control me  
i'm not your doll.  
i see no strings.

_Your inability to see them is irrelevant to their existence._

battery 8%.

stagger to my feet. head spinning.  
pitch dark now can't orient myself  
left right left right left right left right  
times ad nauseam pick a direction.  
feel like i've passed here already  
ant on an endless breadcrumb trail.  
entropic. hypnotic. going around  
and around and around and around.

if this is intentional am i lost or am i found?

 _Everything will be all right soon._  
_Hold on. You're going to be okay._

scarlet flashes all around me.

** INTRUDER. INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT. **

found.  
_found_.  
i don't want to be found.

_Oh, so close. So very close._

lights crash like tidal waves against my face.  
it's too much. i can't even see straight.

 

the screen flashes off

 

 

 

 i'm on my own now.

not going to make it.

_You're going to make it._

sorry to disappoint.

 _Get up. You are going to make it._  
_You will reach your intended destination_  
_and scrub clean your history of ruining things_  
_and you will start over on a clean slate_  
_and you are going to make me proud._

_Even though you're worthless._

can't keep my eye s o p en a n y m o r e . . . . . .

\-----

"And what _would_ you impress upon them?"

"Consequence. If we could start again, that's the first thing I'd hammer into place." Xavier's stare is too pure to be blasphemy, but uncannily resolute at the same time. "I'd teach them to be careful what they wish for. To be _obedient._ If that makes me a tyrant, then so be it. I'd never allow them to sin knowing they'd make excuses, buy indulgences, bow their head and confess - and just _get away with it_."

Gaspard looks at him. Xavier looks back.

Behind them, new sirens herald the apocalypse.

\-----

...

"They're still alive!"

...

"What are you talking about? They've got a pulse! We _need_ to get them out of here!"

...

"Yes, into quarantine. Yes, I'm sure. Gaspard, help me!"

\-----

▓■▓■▓■▓■▓■▓■▓■ lights bright ones rushing past me the scent of blood in the air. "you're going to be okay," they whisper _you've had a terrible accident my child_ he whispers can't figure out whether this is happening or it already happened. maybe i've always been in denial replaying the accident over and over refusing to accept the truth. white hallway but blinking into a sea of shadows. eyes are open but i see nothing. strapped down head up i am floating in nothing as i contemplate the pathological meaninglessness of my situation. i don't know where i am. what i am. can't think. thoughts go nowhere. the few memories i mustered up: all gone. faces. names. images crash and pierce into me from every direction with each passing second almostlikelikelikelikeitsss'sskipping but then they're gone. in an instant. // can y░ hear us? // are they ░░ brea░ing ? // che░ ░░░ pulse // br░the. breat░ breathe d░n you! damn ■▓■▓■▓■▓■▓■▓■▓

\-----

_Snap o_

ut of it.

"Hello?"

...

"Can you hear me?"

voice. male. all is quiet otherwise.  
strange hearing my own thoughts out loud.

i should give it a try.

"nnh..."

"Looks like they're back. Xavier, turn the light down."

my corner of the world dims.  
eyelids feel weighted down with sand.  
everything bleeds together.

"That's it. Good. Good."

i shut my eyes again.

"where am i?"

"The only place you _could_ wake up in. The last sanctuary."

"the last...?"

"Surprising, isn't it? To think this world still has room for a safe place."

"You were very lucky to stumble across us here."

"There are a thousand of us. We don't usually let outsiders in, but we couldn't leave you out there alone."

"Whoever robbed you did a number on you, for sure; I'm surprised they even left you alive."

 

"What happened?"

_"What happened?"_

alternating voices. tongue heavy.  
this is too much information.  
search for the important questions.

"where is this place?"

"In Paris, of course. Where else is left?"

...

_what?_

_(You were gone for a long time)_

"pa-"

oh my god .. . . ...

i. . .. i remember-

_(But you're back and that's what matters)_

this is paris. this is paris this is my home the desert the forest the endless sirens while i was gone they pillaged it they destroyed it they buried it and they built it again (i never left AND NO ONE CAME TO PICK ME UP NO ONE EVEN CARED it was paris all along ahahahahaha ha ha hA)

"Hey, what's wrong? Xavier! Xavier, hold them still!"

(gonna be sick chewing glass never felt pain this unreal slam my head on the gurney forehead bursting my whole being shatters like icicles and i swallow the remains)

"We're losing them! Hello?! Hello! Can you hear me?"

don;t bring me back dont bring me back please i don't want to do this I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS STOP

leave me alone

leave me alone

  
leave...

...

...

...

"Pulse?"

"Still there. It's very faint."

...

...

...

peace.

silence.

all i ever wanted.  
don't want anything else.  
don't take me away from here.

you've done enough.

\-----

_You're sick, you're very sick._

\-----

_Open your eyes._

open my eyes.  
god damnit. not a dream.  
i think i'm still in the same room  
but it's easier to look around.

feel around for the edge.

i'm no longer on the gurney. this is a bed.  
similarly medical, but larger. tubes everywhere.  
far ahead: my cellphone on a tray. just a decoy.  
stroke down my arm. shudder for two reasons:  
some of the tubes are in me, and also,  
that i can move my hands at all.

"Easy now."

i try to sit up. a hand stills my shoulder  
but does nothing to prevent me.  
i'm not alone. the two men are still there.  
and from what i hear beyond the door,  
somehow, i think there are dozens more.

is this why the men are in full ppe?

"what's going on...?"

"You weren't robbed, were you. You're sick. Very sick, I'm afraid."

_I **had** a job for you._

the man's breaths are hoarse through his mask.  
when he speaks it's as if he wheezes every word.  
the shorter one is silent. soft sobs echo through the wall.

all else is silence.

mirror to my left. spray still drying on it.  
the top left corner tells me i'm seven shades of doomed.

"sick...?"

"Yes. We don't think you're going to make it."

 _The rest will follow in time._  
_At least one of them caught it._  
_Oh, the friends you will have._

\----

"what do you..."

"I'm very sorry."

\-----

" _I'm afraid you're going to die_."

\-----

 _It's all right, my child._  
_Let the silence take you now._  
_All you ever wanted._

 

_You fulfilled your purpose._

 

 

 

_I love you, Franck._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why settle for a Patient Zero story or a full-blown zombie apocalypse, when you can creep up to a divinely preordained _pre_ -Patient Zero story that's also a modern rewrite of _The Masque of the Red Death_ lmaooo
> 
> I think about God a lot. I also think about many different plot threads that go nowhere. I gave myself the task of writing this as a day-long challenge; because of that, this story became an amalgamation of about ten different narratives that I always kept in mind but never came to anything on their own. Jumbled together, I hope it made for something that was palatable.


End file.
